Fear
by pincakes
Summary: So, my friend challenged me to write a fan fiction. Smut, of course. I'm curious to know what everyone thinks. Thanks! Reader x Heavy with a little sprinkle of Pyro and a Dash of Medic for good fun.


Finally back from a long day of classes, you step into the hallway. It smells of lemon-scented floor wax and strong cleaning solution, which didn't surprise you. For the short weeks you have been here, you have discovered that most of the people that walk these hallways return to their living quarters covered in blood. Whether it was their own or not, well, that depended on the person.

Your feet squeak on the freshly waxed floor as you walk toward your room at the end of a long hallway. The events that follow you turning the corner run together very quickly, and you are only able to replay them in your mind as a jumbled mess.

A hot, blue flame startles you as you begin to feel it singing and burning the skin on your bare shoulder. You gasp at the pain, and look up to see a figure holder a flamethrower at attention, looking down at you with the soulless, black lenses of his mask. In that instant, you push past him. You run. You feel the tears from the scorching pain running down your face as you fumble to unlock the door to your room. Once you are inside, you slam the door behind you and quickly lock it.

As you look in the bathroom mirror, down past the smeared makeup, past your neck, you see that your shoulder has been burnt badly. You can see white, dead skin, singed black at the edges. In the middle, you can see fresh tissue, sinewy and red. You have to look away to keep yourself from getting sick. Blood and gore normally doesn't bother you, but it's a different situation entirely when it's your own.

You know of one person who can make it all go away, of course. But, you're stubborn. You don't want to appear weak to him, and you certainly don't want to give him the satisfaction of _healing_ you. You step into your shower and begin to run some cold water. The sting is gone now, probably because the nerve endings under the burn have died. This was a blessing, for now. You've been burned before, and you know that when then burn begins to heal, it will also begin to hurt. You wash off the burn, and wrap it with the dressings you find in the first aid kit your mother had insisted upon you having.

You dress and fix your face. Looking in the mirror, you notice you look pale, almost sickly. It was just from being started, you reasoned to yourself, and the sudden pain from the burn probably didn't help. You are just about to relax on your bed, when you hear a thunderous knock at your door.

You freeze. You don't know who it could be. Maybe someone saw what happened? Your head begins to reel at the mess that would unfold in the base if they had. Before you could finish your thought, you hear a voice. A deep, raspy voice with a thick Russian accent "Is me."

Nothing more needed to be said; your heart raced as you slowly opened the door. Before you stood a behemoth. The man was nearing seven feet in height, and had a figure that could crush a car. His muscles peeked through the red sleeves of his shirt, and trailed up to his bull-like neck. His jawline was strong, and his face severe. You stood motionless at the door, trying not to show your discomfort.

"H-hi." You said, trying to sound as normal as possible.

He looked down and a crooked smile fell over his thin lips.

"Doktor is avay for the night. He told me to come keep eye on you." He paused, noticing the confused look on your face "He thinks I make you nervous. He vants me to fix."

"Well…" you begin to stutter "c-come in."

You open the door completely and let the Russian man in. He has to duck to get through the doorway. You motion to the bed, as you are lacking other seating arrangements. "You can sit down, if you want," you try desperately to keep your voice from faltering.

He looks down and says politely "Da, thank you."

He sits on the bed. As he does so, it creaks and shifts a bit under him. After he is situated, you sit down on the opposite side of the bed, with your hands folded in your lap. Before you can say anything, the Russian man takes in a long, slow breath, and begins to speak, "Doktor is right?"

You look down, ashamed. "I suppose so. It's nothing against you, its just-"

He interrupts, "Is ok. I am scary man. Is part of job. But, I am not working right now. I do not vant to scare such pretty girl."

Your cheeks become hot, and all of the sudden you remember the burn on your shoulder.

He continues, "I feel that maybe if I tell you about me, you will not be scared anymore, da?"

You look over, meeting his gaze "A-Alright."

He draws in another breath, and exhales evenly.

"I vas born in the mountains of Russia. My mother passed avay when I was five. I was raised by father. I joined Soviet army when I vas sixteen, when father died." He paused, his facial expression turned slightly grim. "I vas expert weapon maker, and I vas respected, until I vas tricked by comrade. He asked me to… do things with him" He stuttered, the hurt in his voice was palpable. " I agree. When commander found out, I had to flee, because it was not-" he searched for the right word "acceptable," He finished. "I ran for long time. I live in Asia. Then, I come to America. I start work for RED, to make weapons. Here, I meet my Doktor, and I have been here since."

You look over. His face is not as severe now. It looks empty, defeated. You enquire, "Do you miss it there? Russia, I mean."

He answers quiety, "Every day, ptichka."

You step off the bed, and walk around to the other side where Heavy is sitting. You throw your arms around him and bury your head in his chest. He smells of musk, l\vodka, and something else you can't quite identify. His embrace is on the verge of crushing, but you pay no mind to it. You look up at him, and his is smiling. It isn't the devilish smile you are used to seeing him wear, but it is a kind, grateful smile.

"I'm sorry." You say, muffled by the fabric of his shirt.

He just squeezes you tighter, humming softly to himself a tune you vaguely recognize. When you finally pull away, you gasp, realizing your burn had bled onto his shirt.

"What is this?!" He asks, alarmed.

"Its nothing," You reply, trying to fix the bandage that had come loose. Heavy gently moves your hand away with his, slowly peeling back the bandage.

"Does not look like nothing. This is burn. Is from Pyro, is it not?" He looks at you, with anger welling up in his eyes.

"Yes, it is but I think it was just an accident," You stammer.

He looks at you again, and speaks with a chastising demeanor in his voice, "Why did you not tell Doktor? Is very bad, ptichka. Very bad."

You look down, but do not reply.

"You are stubborn. That is how many good men die."

"I'm sorry." You reply, defeated.

Heavy looks at you, shakes his head, and pulls something from his back pocket. It's a syringe.

"This will help until Doktor gets back." Without any other words, he plunges the syringe into the burn and pushes the plunger. You cry out in agony, but it is quickly replaced with numbness. Heavy replaces the bandage, and wipes away a single tear from your face with the side of his large hand and says into your ear "You are too beautiful to be crying."

You blush. Heavy notices, and smiles the same crooked smile he did before. He lies down on the bed, and pats the empty space next to him. You carefully lay down beside the giant man. He pulls you up against his side, sliding his left arm under you, using his right hand to pet your hair. You blush again. Heavy chuckles, "You are nervous for different reason now, da?"

You nod your head, looking down. The large Russian man puts one curled finger under your chin, lifting your gaze to his. His eyes are blue and striking. They are no longer cold and angry; they are inviting. You feel the heat radiating off of his body, his hot breath slowly caressing your face. Your heart is beating faster than ever as he leans in closer, his soft, thin lips against yours. You taste alcohol, but also the sweet, musky scent that has become familiar to you since he has entered your bedroom. You soften under his kiss, and welcome his calescent, prodding tongue into your mouth. He kisses you feverishly, as you wrap your arms around him and begin to pull at the fabric of his shirt. He pulls away slowly, teasingly, abandoning your welcoming mouth to explore other parts of you. He begins whispering into your ear, but you cannot understand it. This drives you mad, but you are helpless under the spell of his gravely, deep voice. The thick and guttural Russian words crash into you like a tidal wave, submerging you in a thick haze of lust. He then begins to kiss your neck, exploring it thoroughly. He knows he is driving you to the edge, as your breaths quicken and your back arches. He pulls away and chuckles "Doktor was right," He says, "You are very easy to be worked up!"

You scowl at him. Of course Medic would say that. You try to sit up, when a large hand pulls you back down. Heavy looks at you and smiles, devilishly his time, "Is good thing," He says. "Is _very_ good thing."

You still frown, a bit offended. You hope Medic doesn't give out that kind of information about you to just anyone. You blush, and sheepishly ask, "What else has he told you?"

A grin begins to spread across Heavy's face as he looks at you curiously. "Vell," He begins, "Doktor says you are soft, and _sweet_." He says, lustfully.

Your heart skips a beat. Plenty of people have called you sweet, but you know that Heavy was talking about something entirely different from your personality. You could feel the heat rising to your face as the large Russian man swiftly slid off of the bed. He walked slowly to the foot of said bed. He looms over you. "Is this favorite shirt?"

"No, why d-"

You aren't able to finish. Heavy pulls your shirt in two different directions, and it rips like tissue paper. He then moves down, and starts running his massive hands along the sides of your legs, up to your thighs. You begin to squirm, unable to contain the strange mixture of lust and fear the current situation is evoking deep inside of you as he reaches your hips. He looks up at you, "Be still," he says, with a low, raspy voice. His accent is thicker than usual now. He slides your pants down, still holding your gaze. You don't dare look away.

He grasps your panties with his thumb and forefinger, pulling them off of your body in one, swift stroke. You shiver as he grabs your ankles, and pulls you closer to him.

He wastes no time testing his Doktor's hypothesis. His tongue begins to explore you, quickly finding the spot that will make you moan. You try to contain yourself at first, but the ravage of pleasure he is bringing you is too great. Your breathing increases and your head starts to buzz. His tongue laps up all of the sweetness he had coaxed out of you earlier, and his powerful, wide mouth sucks ands tugs until you can bear no more. He continues this as you ride through your orgasm. You notice him move away, and once you open your eyes, you see him leaning over you. "Doktor vas right again, ha!" He said with a small smirk. You aren't able to respond, but you can't help but notice the bulge in Heavy's pants; you had always wondered if he was, well, proportional.

You realize you're in the perfect position to find out. You carefully lift one trembling hand toward the bulge, making sure your actions are well received.

Unsurprisingly, Heavy is elated. He takes your hand, and places it directly over the bulge. It's as hard as iron, and scorching hot. He begins, to unzip his trousers, and you try to help, to hurry the process along. "You are so curious, ptichka," He looks down at you with wanton eyes, and drops his pants completely.

Your jaw drops. He's not only proportional to his gigantic size, but he is well endowed. You draw in an audible gasp. "I am giant!" He says, gleefully.

At this point, you aren't quite sure how to go about maneuvering what has been so graciously placed in front of you. You look up, and Heavy gently cups your chin with one hand and pulls you toward his hips. Unsure of yourself, you begin to lick and suck him, using your hand to work with the rest of the shaft. Heavy begins to moan. It is not like any moan you are used to hearing. It is closer to a growl, forming deep in the giant man's chest. You look up at him. From what you can see, his face is displaying a feeling of pleasure. You decide to take more of him in your mouth. It seems to be almost impossible to take all of him, but you are able to take half. You twirl your tongue around in what little room is left in your mouth, moving back and forth. You begin to move faster, digging your nails into heavy's legs. The growls from the man become louder, until he throws his head back with a primal shout. A torrid of hot cum races down your throat, choking you as you gasp for air.

You swallow what you can, and wipe what is left off with your sleeve. You look up at Heavy, and he meets your gaze. He picks you up, placing you on the bed.

He lies down next to you, and pulls you close. He begins to pet and toy with your hair, and you begin to relax in his arms. You look at the clock, and realize how much time has passed, and how late it was. "You are not scared anymore?" Heavy says, gazing at you with half-open eyes.

You shake you head and smile.

"I am happy. Doktor vill be happy also."

Your face wrinkles at the mention of Medic.

"Doktor care about you, ptichka. You know this, da?"

You sigh, "Yes, I know. But I don't want him to know that I know. Does that make sense, Heavy?" You ask.

Heavy just laughs, and continues to pet your hair. Before you know it, you are buried in his strong chest, inhaling everything he has to give you, content. You fall asleep.

When you awake, your shirt is still missing. It's on the floor, in two pieces. You also notice something else is missing: the burn. You growl in dismay. You look over to the table next to your bed, on which lies a beautiful black, lace shirt. There is also a note. It reads:

Bis heute abend, meine liebe.

-Dr.

Fin

Note: Ptichka= little bird/ birdie


End file.
